Old Drum And Loyality

I read this piece to my first year animal management course in college each year and without fail it created an emotional reaction.  It helps that the kids are animal lovers but I reckon most people love the sentiments.  Hope you enjoy it!  The picture shows  a statue to Old Drum in Warrensburg, USA.

Senator Vest's "Tribute to the Dog"

It is strange how tenaciously popular memory clings to the bits of eloquence men have uttered, long after their deeds and most of their recorded thoughts are forgotten, or but indifferently remembered. However, whenever and as long as the name of the late Senator George Graham Vest of Missouri is mentioned it will always be associated with his love for a dog.
Many years ago, in 1869, Senator Vest represented in a lawsuit, a plaintiff whose dog "Old Drum" had been wilfully and wantonly shot by a neighbour. The defendant virtually admitted the shooting, but questioned to the jury the $150 value plaintiff attributed to this mere animal. To give his closing argument, George Vest rose from his chair, scowling, mute, his eyes burning from under the slash of brow tangled as a grape vine. Then he stepped sideways, hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets, his gold watch fob hanging motionless, it was that heavy. He looked, someone remembered afterwards, taller than his actual 5 feet 6 inches, and began in a quiet voice to deliver an extemporaneous oration. It was quite brief, less than 400 words:
"Gentlemen of the jury: the best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his worst enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it the most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honour when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him and the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous... is his dog.
Gentlemen of the Jury: a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death."
The jury deliberated less than two minutes then erupted in joint pathos and triumph. The record becomes quite sketchy here, but some in attendance say the plaintiff who had been asking $150, was awarded $500 by the jury. Little does that matter. The case was eventually appealed to the Missouri Supreme Court, which refused to hear it.

A poem on grief that will not heal

In our writing group there was discussion on recent suicides, especially among the young in our community, and the anguish they leave behind.  Knowing how desperate one must be to take one's own life there can only be compassion for those who find themselves in that lonely place.  Certainly no judgement or condemnation is intended but this poem arose from the consequences of such actions on those who remain behind.  

 

Suicide

In violation of my love

You took your life

Cutting our link with death’s blade

I bleed your loss profusely

Searching for a tourniquet of reason

Guilt, despair, explanations

cannot dispel the utter pain

Of knowing I was not enough

When my heart wails its willingness to face any ordeal for you

Any but this cold dead box

Nails hammered into sweet memories of love

Earth now covers that part of me

That was the best

What remains but this shell of deadness?

A mockery of living.

Etched upon my soul

Your absence is an acid

It burns unrelieved by time

Why not plunge the blade in here

It would have been a kinder deed by far

To my Nephew, James

It has been a pleasure watching you turn from an active toddler to a steady young man.  In my mind you are ever the tiny two year old who could not stand still but bounced on his toes as if anxious to start the race of life.  So much energy and so interested in everything.  Always so eager to make a start, with mind racing on in this direction and that.  Stoic and thoughtful you come at life strangely settled inside.  As if all the major decisions have already been taken somewhere.  Those important ones concerning principles, direction and morals.

I love your delight in creativity as it finds an echo in my own path.  How mundane not to create something fresh and rub ones hands in glee at its creation.  Not dependent on adulation, financial reward or even applause.  It makes life worth living and watching you listening to a track of your latest musical piece, eyes closed in concentration, head back to feel the music and shaking side to side slightly as if absorbing the sound waves selectively, is a lovely image.  May each day bring more such births along.  When so much nowadays is bring torn down, besmirched and corroded it is even more vital to be creative.  When destruction seems the key word today then let creativity be ours.  It is good to be choosing a different path.

I am firmly convinced creatively is a kind of inspiration.  It comes from somewhere outside us, but finds expression inside.  We just have to be clear channels to allow it out and share it with others.  So may the year ahead be filled with loads of inspiration and may your channel ever be clear.

Saving tiny birds one day at a time

Visited my elderly neighbour Joyce a few doors down from our old home yesterday in Coleraine.  Our house was a rotten wreck invested with wood worm and had a capacity to be much colder inside than the ambient temperature outside.  But our neighbours were universally lovely.  When we moved in we were greeted by one who brought flowers, chocolates and a massive bowl of fruit.  Joyce two doors down would appear at Easter, Christmas etc with one of her home baked cakes, those heavenly concoctions that only six decades of practice can produce.  I remember when my husband had a bypass operation in London and we had to fly over together, she sent a lovely note to my youngest son, left alone in the house, saying if he was lonely or hungry to call with her.  I really thank God for such people they make the world around them so much sweeter. 

You’ll not find them on the front page of your newspaper, or interviewed in a Jeremy Kyle show, or in your local court building, she will not create litter or vandalise your street, so you will probably never get to meet Joyce but be heartened that she exists.  I had obviously visited a little too early, half ten in the morning, but she welcomed me in with nice cup of coffee and slice of cake.  All with one hand.  It took me some time to notice that all the time we were talking a tiny bird was being held in one of her hands.  When I drew attention to the bird, she said it had flown into her kitchen window and stunned itself.  So she was holding it in her hand in the hope that the warmth of her hand would help revive it.  Sure enough the tiny bird began to become more lively and open and close its beak.  They say the best cure for shock in people is talking and warmth.  So Joyce was providing both to this tiny package of life.  After ten minutes the bird was much livelier and Joyce took it outside to see if it could fly.  Who does such things?  Who would share their human warmth with a tiny stunned bird.  Well, I hope you, like me, are strangely uplifted that Joyce certainly does!

Millenium Goals - the good news

Just over ten years ago the world’s leaders established goals and targets to free humanity from extreme poverty, hunger and disease.  The Millennium declaration set global priorities and allowed the world to focus their efforts.  I tend to be a cynic and am generally a half glass empty rather than a half glass full type but credit where credit is due – progress has been made, even in this financially taxing time.

Another example of what we can do when we work together is how the world tackled Smallpox.  Existing since 10,000 BC this disease was a real killer - estimates vary but proably 500 million people paid with their lives.  So when the world decided to eradicate this disease from the face of the earth it was no small task it set itself.   But it was united, a rare thing indeed for the human race, and in 1979 it succeeded in wiping this dreadful scourge out.  Speaks volumes about what this world can achieve when it sets its mind to it and acts as one! 

the hollow that is dug for those who speak no more

It is hard to learn from history.  We keep hoping that humanity is progressing and will not keep making the same mistakes but I get the feeling (given present events) that unless our noses are rubbed in our shit enough we will not learn the vital lessons that need to be learned. 

The Rwanda Massacre which happened in 1994 is recent enough not to be forgotten but as more facts emerge we will need to re-visit it anew.  The President of Rwanda, Habyarimana had been power two decades and was terrified he would not be re-elected so he decided to deliberately stir up hatred for the Tutsi minority (14%) of the population in the Hutu majority (85%).  This involved using physical attacks as well as verbal abuse.  They directed six instances of massacres of hundreds of Tutsi from Oct 1990 even before the real genocide began in earnest. 

Habyarimana transformed the youth of his party into militia known as Interahamwe and they were encouraged to use violence as were others for political purposes.  It is disheartening to note that the machetes that were used to kill so many during the terrible genocide that followed were imported in large quantities at this time from British and Chinese manufacturers.  One wonders why none of these manufacturers queried the need for 100,000 machetes in 1994? 

When President Habyarimana’s plane was shot down, on April 6, 1994, Tutsis were blamed and the massacre got under way.  Subsequently, it has been discovered (17 years later) that the weapon shot at the plane came from one of the Hutu camps.  But there was to be no mistakes in rolling out the effective killing machine that was put into place during the genocide.  Those who would have put a stop to the killing in their locality, the moderates, the wise, the respected community leaders were systematically targeted and killed.  Those involved in the killing frenzy knew that with these people in place, each would have served as a block to curtail the madness unfolding.  Remember that saying “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing” well it would appear that the murderers knew that good men and women needed to be removed from the scene entirely!

There are depressing academic papers now published (Philip Verwimp, Massacres in Rwanda) that have graphs showing numbers killed in the genocide by firearms, and tables giving percentages killed by machetes, clubs, pick axes, burned, hanged, drowned, buried alive etc  It makes depressing reading.  So too does the planning that went into the genocide.  Not only were weapons readied, militia trained for this purpose but media was used to broadcast a daily stream of anti-Tutsi hate propaganda (Radio Televison Libre Mille Collines (RTLMC) formed in 1993) who referred to opposition as “traitors who deserve to die” and the Tutsi as “cockroaches and snakes which should be stamped out”.  Broadcasts accused Tutsis of murdering Hutu babies and of vile sexual practices.  This served to whip up hatred and fear and when the killings started for real the radio even broadcast lists of people to be killed!  They called continuously for the total extermination of Tutsis.  Why did the International community allow, in the name of press freedom, this station to continue to exist?  But of course there are other questions too, the complete inability of the International Community to respond swiftly and effectively to the massacre shames us all. The International Community cannot even claim ignorance, it knew and it did next to nothing.  Between 800,000 and one million lost their lives in the Rwanda madness.  Can I summarise the learning for me.

1.      Prejudice and hatred would appear to prepare the ground nicely for genocide

2.      Genocide starts in hundreds of killings, these are the precursors to the mass killings that follow – action is needed before things get worse

3.      Corrupt leaders hanging onto power at whatever cost in lives seems worryingly common

4.      Providing weapons/instruments to killers is not a good idea, especially in excessive numbers (could manufacturers/governments take note)

5.      Media whipping up hatred and killing and providing lists of those to be killed – should surely be against international law?

6.      The International Community used to wring its hands and claim ignorance – that excuse does no longer hold (perhaps it never did) justice must prevail

7.      Good people in every community act as strongholds/brakes of reason and sanity in crazy times (hence the need to kill as many as possible beforehand when planning genocide) and the world needs many more of these voices of reason everywhere!

PS An air plane crashed on February 12, 2009, it was the Continental Connection Flight 3407, en route from Newark, New Jersey, to New York.  On board that flight was one Alison Des Forges, senior advisor to Human Rights Watch, who was no stranger to danger, violence and loss of life on a scale that defies belief.  It is my hope that in those last terrifying moments, as the plane fell, she felt her life had achieved something.  She was the person who did more than most to bring the Rwanda massacre to the attention of the whole world.  She put her life on the line within Rwanda to try and save lives and wrote the definitive reports on what was happening and why. She did not pass empty handed in to the hollow!

    “Soon will our handful of days, our vanishing life, be gone, and we shall pass, empty-handed, into the hollow that is dug for those who speak no more; … We must gird ourselves for service, kindle love's flame, and burn away in its heat. We must loose our tongues till we set the wide world's heart afire..”

Bahá’í Writings

The Lovely Mr Nikos

I remember calling at my son’s primary class in Greece and his teacher Mr Nikos seemed unusually agitated.  This was not like him at all.  He was the calmest, nicest Greek I had ever encountered.  His good humour and determined kindness had helped my volatile youngest son Daniel in his first year at Greek primary school.  Not speaking any Greek had been one disadvantage but such was Daniel’s bad temper he even made the boisterous and aggressive Greeks around him seem positively as mild as milk.  You got used to it in our household and sort of coped.  Like the time my uncle had won at monopoly and Daniel had immediately over turned the board and the table, storming out of the room.  In the awkward silence that followed my uncle in dry tones muttered, “Sure, if I knew it meant that much to him, I’d have let him win!”

Taking Daniel to learn team sports had proved equally disastrous.  When other players took the ball, pushed against him, he became righteously indignant and marched of the pitch, stiff necked in rage.  When really angry at home, he would walk onto our balcony and announce his intention to throw himself off.  His other brothers would chorus at such times, “Just do it!”

When a substitute teacher had taken over from the delightfully calm Mr Nikos there had been trouble.  A boy had got up and slapped Daniel on the back of the neck in class.  As Daniel got up to respond, the young teacher had told him to sit down.  Daniel told her what had happened but she informed him she had not seen the slap and he should sit down immediately.  Daniel responded in usual form by telling her she must be blind.  A shouting match ensued with escalating volume on both sides.  Neither would back down and finally the young teacher ran out of the class to seek help.  Daniel by now, was firmly in his, “Kill me if you like, I’m not backing down mode.”  The teacher returned out of breath with Mr Nikos in tow.  The wise Mr Nikos took Daniel outside into the corridor and closed the classroom door.  Having got an irate Daniel on his own, Mr Nikos knelt down in front of him and said in a warm and understanding tone.

“Daniel, I know you are a good boy”

This breeched Daniel’s enraged defences and he immediately burst into heartfelt sobs of apology – what a clever teacher.

So to find the calm, usually unruffled Mr Nikos enraged was a worrying development.  To add to the disquiet every single child in the room was sobbing.  Some with their heads on the table, others held shaking desks with shoulders heaving and tiny girls wailed their distress.  I walked my son home bewildered with the situation.  As we headed along the street Daniel explained that at lunch time a group of children from his class had surrounded a six year old mentally disabled Albanian child in the playground and threw stones at her and shouted abuse.  She had become distraught and Mr Nikos had heard about the event from other teachers as his class filed in for their last lesson of the day.  “What did he say?”  I asked.  Daniel said that Mr Nikos had told them a story about a tiny girl, with many problems, from a foreign country coming to a new school and feeling very alone and afraid.  Then, how she encountered a crowd of bullies who tormented her and even threw stones and abused her.  Imagine, if she was your little sister, he told them sadly and softly.  If your little sister was alone in our playground and it happened to her, how would you feel?  On and on he’d gone for the full 45 minutes until every child howled their hearts out at the injustice and unfairness of it all. – what a teacher!  He’d taught them all a valuable lesson that day.

When we were leaving Rhodes I’d wanted to thank Mr Nikos for all his kindness and wisdom.  So in my crude Greek, I told him how lovely he was, how really, really lovely.  Not knowing much Greek, I tend to re-use the same words.  Daniel squirmed in embarrassment beside me as I stressed again and again how lovely I thought Mr Nikos was.  Feeling that I had at least managed to do the right thing and conveyed my appreciation to a good teacher we headed home.  Daniel then pointed out that my Greek “lovely” actually meant “handsome” or “good looking” and I’d been wittering on about how attractive he was.  How very, very attractive, really good looking in fact.  As my cheeks glowed red in embarrassment, Mr Nikos’ surprised but usual understanding face burned in to my memory banks.

You mean, we've only managed to reach the moon?

I love the look of this ship, it has all the beauty you expect from high tech stuff but none of the nasty drawbacks to the environment.  It just looks space ship like.  

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2010/apr/01/turanor-solar-power-yacht-launch 

Speaking as someone who was eleven when mankind landed on the moon, I have to confess my complete disappointment that the moon was as far as we had got!  Reared on Star Trek and Lost in Space I had felt sure that we had at least mastered space travel to the nearest galaxy.  So, I remember trying to muster enthusiasm for the whole moon landing project in 1969 in front of excited family members, while trying to hide my own bitter disillusionment.  The actual footage of a bulky man clambering out down a ladder onto a barren landscape seemed rather poor pickings – where were the aliens, the phasers, the amazing landscapes?  I suspected if Star Trek, rather than NASA, had done the whole job it would have been much better presented and had much more action.  

This was followed by a major natural disaster somewhere in the third world, I don’t remember where, and as we watched images of suffering on our TV, I asked why didn’t they send someone like Thunderbirds to help the poor people.  Imagine my outrage when I discovered that there was not even an equivalent real life version of the team, equipped with the best kits, machines, people and technology to fly in to the zone and help.  It was at this point I began to have serious reservations about those in authority.  What were they thinking of?  If I could see what was needed at age eleven, what kind of morons were in charge of us all?  

So reaching mid fifties I found myself strangely excited about this ship, it is my kind of Thunderbirds/Star Trek piece of science.  It looks beautiful, runs on sun and produces no pollution – what’s not to like?  Factoring in that 15 of the largest traditional ships on the ocean at present produce as much sulphur dioxide as all the world’s 760 million cars together, isn’t about time such clean beauties as these were designed?

Abnormal repetitive behaviour - what's yours

Today we had an invited speaker to the college who spoke about abnormal behaviour in animals.  Videos were shown of small dogs chasing their tail until they became a flying circle of black and white.  A mouse did repeat back summersaults again and again like an acrobat stuck in a loop.  A huge elephant, chained at the leg, swung from side to side continuously.  All of them drew laughter from the audience of young students.  Until the speaker pointed out that all of these behaviours denoted stress in the animals.  These repetitive movements were symptoms of an animal trying to cope with situations far from their normal environment.  Perhaps you have seen it in the zoo where the lion paces up and down the cage wall putting his feet in the exact paw prints that he has been making for months, sometimes years.  It is distressing to watch because once you know what to look for, you can see it is not normal.  The tragic thing is that after a period of around twelve weeks of such activity the animal’s brain becomes hard wired and it is impossible to change the endless routine.  The comfort such activities bring are an end in themselves and no matter how exciting the environment or stimulating only a slight reduction in activity levels in the repetitive activity can be ever achieved.  Abnormal repetitive behaviour is usual exhibited by normal animals in un-natural situations.  If you want to see distressing examples of this behaviour have a look at this link. 

http://www.aps.uoguelph.ca/~gmason/StereotypicAnimalBehaviour/library.shtml

It struck me that we too carry out abnormal repetitive behaviour when stressed and I began looking for signs of it in myself and others.  Overeating, endless shopping, routines at work, gossiping, mobile phones, games, gambling, drinking, smoking, cleaning, reading rubbish and watching rubbish on TV.  Could these be the equivalent of rocking to and fro getting nowhere but longing for actual life to begin?  What a depressing turn of thought.  Mind you I was happy to see how much the students loved the talk and the speaker and how they were all triggered to find ways of making life more enjoyable for the animals in their care.  It reminded me what a lovely bunch of students they are and what an odd creature I am!

Best Times Worst Times, Guppies and Adsense

Happiest moment giving birth. Just blew me away this tiny person whose arrival made me forget the pain.  Given my extremely low pain threshold generally this was no small feat!

The saddest – losing loved ones.  I remember my nephew Adam was three when my brother and his wife moved into their new three-storey home.  In the carrying things to and fro they noticed Adam in floods of tears.  After a while, once he had calmed a little, all he would say was, “It’s too, too sad!”   Following more tears, they eventually found out that a small fish had managed to jump out of the fish tank being carried up the steep stairs.  Unnoticed, Adam had sat mesmerised with horror as the tiny guppy flopped its last moments at his very feet.  His father pointed out, had he said what had happened earlier the tiny fish could have been saved.   This caused an even greater burst of crying, to have witnessed such horror and now to find he was responsible!  Poor Addie, his cry of “It’s too, too sad!” is echoed by all of us who lose loved pets. 

But when the loss is a person who has filled your life with laughter and love for decades the void they leave can be devastating.  Much, much later, when they come to your mind and bring a smile to your heart, you realize they are still there to inspire you, the distance is a mere illusion.

All of you attentive ones will have noticed the adverts have disappeared from the sides of my blog.  These were courtesy of Adsense a company that places adverts and depending on clicks earns revenue.  Today, Adsense no longer will be placing adverts, so those of you who have been bombarded with “Mature dating sites”, “wrinkle cream”, “Stomach reducing techniques” etc will no longer be subjected to these.  Weird, how they choose the adverts to appear.  Worrying at times!  I never got the hang of how to edit certain advertisers so it is with some relief I no longer have to worry about it.  I have also reduced my postings to once every two days or so, due to popular requests.  You can get too much of a good thing I’m told!

What is the source of all Good and the essence of wisdom?

Trusting in God is hard especially when times are really hard, when it seems as if not just one aspect of life goes wrong but many.  Work, family, health problems can come together in a perfect storm and when nothing is going your way you still have to trust, submit and be content with God’s will.  Such acquiescence is not easy, but it does, in the midst of great suffering, mould special strengthened souls.  Plutarch (46 – 120 AD) was Greek historian, biographer and essayist knew this when he wrote these two statements.

“Those who aim at great deeds must also suffer greatly.” 

 

“To make no mistakes is not in the power of man; but from their errors and mistakes the wise and good learn wisdom for the future.”

To be really wise is to tread carefully understanding God’s commands and His love of justice.  To live one’s life not only loving God but fearing Him also.  This fear is a sturdy shield from wrong doing and the love a constant call to do what is right and just.  I love the work of C S Lewis and this quote of his demonstrates his wisdom and insights in understanding what path to walk and how to walk it.

“Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After
all, you find out the strength of the army by fighting against
it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to
walk against it, not by lying down. A man who gives in to temptation
after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like
an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little
about badness — they have lived a sheltered life by always giving in.
We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we
try to fight it.”

But if we are to be truly wise we must be sure we are not sheep following blindly the path others have worn down before us.  This Welsh proverb cuts to the chase and indicates the importance of reason and rational in guiding us. 

“Reason is the wise man's guide, example the fool's. “

So I wish you strength, wisdom and reason in working out a good path for yourself.

Are You Functioning on all Wavelengths?

I remember my Dad saying some people don’t function on certain wavelengths.  Like, for example, an insensitive neighbour who would say hurtful things to almost everyone she met, but was oblivious to the effects of her barbed comments.  I could see what he meant by that and years of teaching seemed to clarify such things.  He would point out that, if a child came from a family where honesty was not insisted upon then often the entire next generation was devoid of any scruples in that particular arena.  It was indeed as if an entire wavelength of understanding was missing.  It was appropriate to take pens, pencils, money etc as long as no one spotted you.  The older I get, the more I realize that each of us has our own missing wavelengths and tests and difficulties come along and show us exactly what we have not yet mastered.  My middle son was highly tuned to people around him.  

He could sense their unhappiness, joy, intent to a degree that startled me.  I suppose you could call it intuition.  Some years ago my mother fell down a flight of stairs in a hotel and I was startled to find seconds later my son appeared.  He had sensed something wrong and run all the way from home to the hotel.  It is hard to use science to explain how such things happen.  When we had visitors, my son would whisper to me, how sad this one appeared. He didn’t seem to need to speak to them to pick up on what they were feeling.  I, instead, had inherited my Dad’s lack of intuition.  We used to joke that when buying a new car we would ask Dad which car in the whole parking lot he liked, then make sure that whatever car we decided to buy, it was not the one he picked, as it was sure to be a dud!

Walking down a street one day my middle son said “did you see that man Mum he was crying as he came out of the shop?”  My youngest son had seen the man but not noticed he was crying and my eldest had neither noticed the man nor the shop.  We seem to inhabit almost different worlds at times.  I suppose you would call it a kind of emotional intelligence.  Either you have it or you don’t.  But, if life has a purpose then surely progress is required and if we are missing wavelengths we need to focus on the ones missing and fast.  Nothing highlights gaps in our wavelengths better than learning from those who are sensitive to those very areas.  If our filters are set to cut out certain parts of the spectrum we cannot rely on our own eyes and senses to spot them.  We require to have around us those, whose filters are on a completely different range.  It can be painful to see the world anew or learn that we are not seeing enough.  Challenging to have it drawn to our attention.  But I have grown to respect that such people open us up to, not only a new world out there but, a whole world inside us that has been neglected.  We need all the wavelengths functioning!

Eating Sand and Ballooning Heads

I remember being on the beach in Portrush with my three children when my youngest son, under two years old, began eating great fists full of sand.  No remonstration on my part could persuade him to stop.  At one point my mother suggested I was making it worse by drawing attention to it and it would be better by far to ignore the practice.  I tried, and sat as if totally unconcerned while he seemed to spend the entire afternoon enjoying the beach as if it were fish and chips!  Later, his nappies were full of this disgusting grit filled paste, so I suspect most of what he digested went straight through his system.  Nowadays, the chances of animal poo/glass/syringes/heavy metals/pollution in the sand is higher and I would have found it impossible to ignore his determined efforts.  At the time, however, I remember it was the oddity of it that disturbed.  Other people’s children paddled in the sea, dug in the sand, made sandcastles and ran to and fro, while mine focused on eating all the sand within reach.  It was like a judgement call, spot the disturbed child, the mother who obviously has screwed up.  Where had I gone wrong?  How far back had I made fundamental mistakes in my child’s upbringing that he had this emptiness needing to be filled with the nearest dirt he could cram in?

Mothers are filled with such thoughts of ill ease.  There was a baby clinic opposite that I attended with each new born.  We would stand in rows handing over our little ones to be inspected and weighed by trained personal.  I remember with the first one, the woman weighed him and told me he was not putting on enough weight.  I cried all the way home mortified with my failure and apologising to my starving baby.  A month later his weight had improved but his nappy was filled with a liquid coffee-like poo that she told me meant he had diarrhoea and that this was very serious indeed.  More tears followed along with a growing conviction that I was not a fit mother.  It took an experienced friend to point out that the clinic was used to bottle fed babies whose quick weight gain and solid stools bore no similarity to breast fed babies, such as mine, to calm me.  By the time it came to my third baby I could watch mothers retire in tears from the row in front of me, while steeling myself not to be upset by what the nurse would say to me!  Then my turn came and she put a measuring tape around his head and showed me on a graph just how far outside normal his head size was.  There was a lot of discussion about brain development, concerns expressed about what was going on inside his colossal head.  I walked home sobbing in panic and fear as usual, while my baby’s head seemed to inflate like a balloon before my very eyes. 

Which all goes to show that as mothers we can feel we are on an impossible mission and are always ready to believe the worst and then blame ourselves bitterly for it all.  So if you happen to spot a baby stuffing handfuls of sand/dirt into his mouth, please just smile and act as if it is totally normal, you will sooth a troubled soul.

PS this June’s edition of Scientific American (2012) “The Scoop on Eating Dirt” highlights the fact that eating dirt, geophagia, is found in 200 species of animals including baboons, gorillas and chimpanzees.  Humans have been doing it since Hippocrates in 460 BC and the Mesopotamians and ancient Greeks used it to treat ailments, especially of the gut.  Soil contains minerals such as calcium, sodium and iron, an invaluable source especially in times of famine.  Soil’s detoxifying properties are also noted in this article and pregnant women who eat soil may be not only cleansing their system of toxins but also boosting their immune system.  Kaolin, a clay mineral, is used by the pharmaceutical industry to treat nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea.  It is found to bind to not only harmful toxins but also pathogens.  So I put forward the hypothesis that my youngest son, he with the enormous brain, was fully aware of the therapeutic benefits of soil/sand eating at the time of his visit to the beach.  As such, he was an early genius, not demonstrating mental instability at all!  Oh, the folly of motherhood!  Is there no end?

PPS (mind you don’t go eating the soil or sand around you as it is likely to also contain bacteria, viruses, parasitic worms, lead and arsenic) – according to same article

Speeches that stir

When the spirits drop it can help to try out listening to some good rants.  I never thought I would recommend Rocky scenes, but this section struck home because it echoes that feeling that all of us sometimes experience where we kind of lose faith in ourselves.  Good to be reminded of what really matters.  (so skip the silly add at the start – and apologies that it is there)

Then there is that false conviction that those who succeed are chosen or are lucky.  I like the way this second video knocks that idea on the head and spells out what really makes the difference.  Michael Jordan is pretty impressive.

If any of you have a favourite please let me know what it is.